


It's Nothing Fancy

by SoBeBold



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crushes, First Kiss, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Sheriff Stiles Stilinski, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 05:56:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16717687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoBeBold/pseuds/SoBeBold
Summary: Sheriff Stiles Stilinski has to pull an all-nighter on Thanksgiving instead of getting a home-cooked meal. Blame the crush, but Derek Hale isn't gonna stand for that shit.





	It's Nothing Fancy

Derek hesitated. It was one am and the streets were dark and quiet with a light dusting of snow, but there was still plenty of activity at the station. He reached for the door handle, then pulled his hand back. The warmth from the plate radiated into his hands. The bag with the pots was getting heavy.

What if Sheriff Stilinski thought he was creepy for bringing him Thanksgiving dinner? Then again, why would he? They’d known each other since high school. They said cordials hellos all the time. Derek’s hand came back out but stilled again, the tin foil crackling as it shifted. Only casual hellos. This was…aggressive. 

Derek gripped the handle, this time holding on tight. So what if it was? It was high time he moved on his crush. His pack was telling him to. If nothing else, the sheriff would be glad for the food. He was alone for the holidays since his dad, the previous sheriff, died from a sudden heart attack last year. Derek girded his loins and yanked.

 

The small station was at once intimidating and charming, its fluorescent lighting harsh, but khaki-clad deputies gave him pleasant and familiar waves.  They helped him find the sheriff’s office, looking pleased as punch that he was there even if he was scowling through his shyness. 

Concentration twisted Sheriff Stilinski’s face as he worked on a report.

His hair was spiked and wild from running his tired and frustrated fingers through it. It looked hot. Derek always got a little excited when he saw the sheriff in uniform. He had killer body and Derek sometimes imagined unwrapping him like a gift.

Derek cleared his throat. The Sheriff looked up and the way he smile made Derek forget how to breathe. 

“Derek Hale. Hey. What’s brings you in?” Paper crumpled as he shoved everything aside. His words were professional, but Derek hoped he wasn’t imagining the uptick in excitement.

“Evening, Sheriff. Figured you wouldn’t get a hot meal tonight. Didn’t sit well with me. Don’t know if you celebrate, with indigenous genocide and all…” Derek shifted from foot to foot. Sheriff Stilinski’s wide, boyish grin spread across his face. He looked Derek up and down like he was part of the meal.

“I always appreciate a home cooked meal, no matter what the reason.”

“It’s nothing fancy. Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and uh, dessert.”

“Dessert? Where?”

“Gotta make it.” Derek held up his bag, shaking it to make the pots rattle and clank.

Stiles leaned back in his chair and crossed his lean, strong arms. He looked amused. 

“You’re gonna make me dessert here.”

“Hot plates should be okay.”

“All that for me?”

Derek scowled. “Why not? You work hard enough, don’t you?”

Still grinning, Stiles held out a hand. 

“Lead the way.”

 

Derek set up to make a hot apple tart in the tiny navy blue-tiled kitchenette while Sheriff Stilinski sat on a counter watching him. 

“Some stuff I did at home, like blend walnuts for the crust. The filling I can make on the hotplate.”

“Granny apples? Walnuts? Cinnamon and nutmeg? It’s gonna be a great night.”

Derek dared a small smile. He waved towards the plate of food.

“Dig in, Sheriff.”

“Don’t mind if I do. But hey,” Derek turned to look at him, “Call me Stiles.”

Derek nodded. “Stiles, then. Dig in.” He dared a big smile that only the future apple tart could see. 

_Stiles_ grubbed while Derek stirred, poured and seasoned.

 

There was an easy quiet to the early morning, peppered by Stiles’ stories about crazy drugged-up perps and occasional sex moans as he ate the food. Derek didn’t know whether to feel smug or aroused. He secretly chose both. His pack would be thrilled. 

He pressed the crust into the pan, then poured the hot filling inside. 

Over his shoulder her said, “A couple of minutes to cool. Then whipped cream.” Homemade, of course.

“Looks great,” said the brush of warm breath on his ear. Stiles pressed every-so-slightly up against Derek’s back and turned him into goo. 

Derek twisted to face him. Stiles didn’t give him an inch, and that was fine with him. 

“You were the last person I expected to see tonight, and the one I wanted to see the most. You even brought the key to my heart.” He gestured to the food. His voice lowered and for the first time, he looked nervous.

“Even though you kinda already had it.”

_Me?_ Derek’s temperature rose. Stiles gazed into Derek’s eyes, gaging his reaction. 

_Yes,_ Derek thought, _I want this_. Stiles leaned forward. Derek tilted his head to fit his lips against Stiles’. The kiss was perfect. Soft, slow, with a slight brush of tongue, but hinting at the stirrings of passion beneath. 

Derek forgot all about the tart.

“What about Christmas?” He asked, breathlessly.

“Got no plans.”

“You’re welcome to join me. I mean, us. I mean, me and my pack.”

“Awesome. My and my famous green bean casserole will be there.”

Derek nodded, blushing. 

“Hey, Derek. Let’s not wait until Christmas to see each other again, huh?”

This time, Derek didn’t hide his shit-eating grin. 

His pack was going to start planning their wedding. 


End file.
